


That Shadow Thing

by paraboobizarre



Category: The Following
Genre: Choking, Dark, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-09 12:25:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paraboobizarre/pseuds/paraboobizarre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>About Paul and why he likes to kill the way he does.</p><p>Even during those nights when they would sit in the attic of Emma's house, swapping first kill stories and the rush it gave them, he only ever told an edited version of events...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In

Joe leans forward, his eyes fixing Paul from behind the smeared glass and Paul can feel the words falter in his throat.  
“I...,” he starts, but just then a guard walks through the room, looking at them both disapprovingly.  
“The first time I did _it_ ,” he says, quiet enough for Joe to have to lean forward a little, “I used a garrote,” he confides, his voice trailing off towards the end and garrote comes out sounding a bit more like carrot. It's stupid, but he doesn't want the guards to get any ideas about what they're talking about.  
“I wanted to...with my hands, you know, but I wasn't sure I could do it.” He feels a flush creep into his face and he looks down at his hands, palms splayed against the Formica tabletop, leaving wet prints on the plastic he's that nervous.  
Joe doesn't say anything. He never does, always lets Paul get out his thoughts, bit by bit. Joe and Jacob are the only people that have never pushed Paul before he was ready.

“And it was good, you know,” he starts again, suddenly finding his stride. “But you can only use it effectively if you're standing behind the person and that wasn't good enough. I was standing behind them and I could feel them. Moving against me. The way it progresses, you know?” He watches as his finger traces a line along the pistachio green plastic. “The shock and then they start to fight you and if you can only hold on through that part, you have already won,” he looks up at Joe, smiling, seeing his smile mirrored in the other face. The understanding that is there on the other side of this glass.  
“They all give up so easily and I could feel the fight leaving their bodies even when I stood behind them. But it wasn't enough, just feeling it. I wanted to see it. So I use my hands now,” he says, flexing his fingers against the table and feeling a flush of pride when Joe looks down at them too, bites his lip. 

“Why this way?” Joe asks, looking at him expectantly and a bottomless pit opens up in Paul's stomach. Explaining how he likes to kill people is one thing, but explaining the reason behind his endless fascination with choking people is another. He can barely admit it to himself, but the way Joe looks at him, that earnest wonder and patience in his eyes, makes him think that maybe it's okay, that maybe he can be honest here for a change.

“My dad,” he begins, forcibly swallowing the lump suddenly forming in his throat, “he used to beat on my mum and me. He would come home drunk and the tiniest thing would set him off. It was the belt for me until I got older, then he suddenly...changed. He would choke me until I passed out and the look in his eyes when he was on me...” He trails off, suddenly feeling a shiver run down his spine. It's not entirely unpleasant, but it raises the hair on his arms nonetheless.  
“I hated that he had this much power over me,” he concludes hurriedly, not wanting to dive any further into this.  
“You wanted that power for yourself?” Joe hazards a guess.  
Paul nods, smiling through the blush he feels blooming on his face. 

It's partly that, but it's so, so much more. It's that twisted thing, coiling in on itself, that's been living inside Paul's body ever since his dad choked him into unconsciousness, but it's also the nights he watched his parents through the half open bedroom door, his dad on his mum, fucking her, choking her, kissing her, all at once. Those sights, those sounds, they are all in him now and they never leave. Choking people, squeezing his hands around their throats and feeling them claw and pound against his body, watching as the shock in their eyes morphs into horror and finally a kind of strange elation as their eyes roll back – it's the only way he can calm down those sounds, turn down the volume in his own head.  
Knives are fine and he's good at using them but they're a means to an end. Stabbing someone, even slicing their throats, is over too quickly. It's too impersonal. It doesn't do anything to quiet down the thing living inside his chest, threatening to break free at any moment.

He never told anyone about this. Even during those nights when they would sit in the attic of Emma's house, swapping first kill stories and the rush it gave them, he only ever told an edited version of events. How can he confess to something like that? How steeped this all is in his own past, how tangled up he is in his own mess. That he carries it with him everywhere he goes and that, to this day, he sometimes sees flashes of his father's face when he chokes people, present and past swapping places just for a few seconds to remind him of whose creature he really is. 

“I think you'll be a perfect addition to our little group,” Joe says, smiling brightly and winking at him. 

 

He never tells Jacob. Even after they settle into their routine at the new house, even after things progress from play acting to halfway then to really serious, he never tells him. There's one sweltering hot night where they both lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to get some sleep, when Jacob tells him about his family and his father.

Being honest with himself is easier, when there's just the chirping of crickets and dead air and Jacob so still, not saying anything, that Paul is almost convinced the whole world around him is gone. He's floating in space, looking up into the infinite darkness above him and tells the story of his childhood and how his father would beat him, choke him. He leaves out the rest, afraid that if he goes there, he'll lose that tenuous hold he has on himself. 

Lying next to Jacob and listening to his own breathing, he imagines the inside of his body and what it looks like in there. Beneath the skin and the muscles, where his heart should be, there is a prison of rotting flesh and bone and that's where that part of himself lives. More a shadow than a real thing, it's clawing at the insides of its cage, snarling and frothing at the mouth. He has come to accept what he is, but this is the part of himself that he is genuinely afraid of, because it never gets out and there's a hunger there that can't be reasoned with in all its primordial need and want. 

It's always there though and sometimes it manages to stretch and spread in its cage just enough so that a little of it manages to escape and Paul can feel the tendrils of that shadow, hooking its barbs into his flesh, racing through his body like a fever, exhilarating and horrifying at the same time. 

He's easy prey when he's weak and he's never weaker than when he's with Jacob.  
Jacob, who's undulating under him, touching him, pulling him closer and kissing him, their faces so close they share breaths and Paul feels the shadows surge up in his chest, his throat closing up with the intensity of it all. It's so easy to cup Jacob's face in his hand and kiss him, softly slide his hand down to his throat while Jacob whispers into his ear, sliding down to where the pulse is thundering right under his fingertips. Jacob's life contained within the span of his fingers and the biggest thrill Paul gets out of that is knowing that Jacob doesn't know, that he has no idea that this is not just an innocuous touch. That this is not Paul touching him anymore but the shadow thing living inside him.  
He never gives in though, never closes his fingers around Jacob's throat, knowing that once he crosses that line, the cage inside him will crumble. 

He never gives in until that one night...


	2. Out

He never gives in until that one night.  
Jacob has been on edge all day and the atmosphere in the house is so thick you could cut it with a knife. Paul tries to evade him, not necessarily keen on a fight he can feel Jacob is itching to start.

He's already half asleep when Jacob comes into the bedroom but instead of ignoring each other like they did all day, Jacob crawls on top of him and kisses him, clawing at his shirt and pulling at his hair to angle Paul's head the way he wants it. It's rough and punishing and Paul's lip is bleeding, red welts on his shoulders and back even before he pins Jacob's wrists to the bed and pushes in past the resistance, that body that is usually so pliable underneath his hands now fighting him. Jacob hisses, pain flashing across his face, but there's a maniacal glitter in his eyes, when he looks up at Paul and it makes Paul's blood thrum in his ear, the beating of his heart mixing with the rattling of the shadow in its cage, wanting out, just this _once_. 

He fucks him, shoving in so hard, every thrust sends Jacob's breath punching out of him and it's still not enough. Jacob claws at his hair, yanking his head down, the words _harder don't be such a fucking wuss_ a harsh whisper in his ear before Jacob bites his neck so hard, Paul can feel his skin break. Jacob pushes him off again and in the half light of the room, Paul's blood looks almost black on Jacob's lips.  
And the cage rattles.  
Jacob licks his lips and his smile is something crazy and cold that fits perfectly into the lock on the cage and Paul feels the hair on his body rise as the shadow roars out. 

The moment he wraps his hand around the base of Jacob's throat, Jacob goes still, his eyes flying open, an expression of genuine horror flashing across his face. Time around them crawls to a halt. All Paul can hear are their flat, sharp breaths, hollow and metallic in the sudden stillness of the room, his heart working double time as Jacob's fingers dig into his arms so hard he has to bite at his tongue to keep from wincing. Just when he thinks he can't look at Jacob any longer, the pressure suddenly goes away and Jacob's hands slide down his arms to lie down flat at his sides. He closes his eyes and Paul feels the slightest nod against his hand.

Splaying his fingers, he lets his hand glide up Jacob's throat, feeling him stretch his head back in an invitation to explore. Brushing his fingers against the sides of Jacob's neck, the skin under his fingertips quaking with his fluttering pulse, he follows the way of the carotid arteries, follows the life pumping away under his touch. He squeezes down just light enough to make Jacob feel it and is rewarded by a gasp, Jacob's hands flying to his shoulders, holding on to him as he leans in closer, increasing the weight of his hold just a little more.  
Underneath him Jacob is starting to pant, chest rising rapidly with flat breaths. He's not scared, but this is something different, something new and if Paul has learnt even one thing about Jacob in all this time it's that sometimes Jacob needs to be pushed out of his comfort zone. Just a little, just to make things a little more exciting.  
Jacob stretches his head back as far as it will go, his eyes, just two shadows under hooded lids, following Paul, watching him. His neck is this inviting plane of pale skin and Paul can't help but lean in and kiss the hinge of Jacob's jaw right above the point, where his thumb is pushing against the artery. Jacob's fingers tangle in his hair, hips rolling up against him, squeezing him just right and Paul's breath stutters out of him as he crowds in closer, grinds up against Jacob, feeling the responding groan rumble against the palm of his hand. 

When they kiss this time it's the kind of thorough, slow motion kiss he only ever gets when he manages to make Jacob forget everything around himself; Jacob's low moans tipping into gasps whenever he squeezes just a little tighter, their breaths falling into the rhythm of their bodies moving against one another.  
Soon Jacob is rubbing against him, getting needy, surging up against his hand and Paul's hand pushes down, the flat of his palm pressing up just underneath Jacob's chin, choking him for real this time. Jacob's back arches, his blunt nails scratching against his shoulders, not really fighting him, not yet but it's coming.  
Paul can feel it in the way Jacob's throat starts to work under his hold, that frantic up down up down, trying to swallow, his lips moving against Paul's as he leans down, trying breathe but not getting any air. Thrusting into that growing tightness is a rush like no other and Paul groans, his pleasure spiking, a familiar heat spreading in his chest like a wildfire as Jacob's bone dry heaving fills his head until it's all he can hear. 

It always starts in the way they touch him, hands going from holding onto him, please don't hurt me, to trying to push him off, when they realize that this is for real. Jacob's fist stem against his shoulders and it seems like he's vibrating. Breaths that don't come move his chest in that peculiar way, like the worst case of hiccups, everything in his body going through the familiar motions, but not getting any air. How they all look when they feel the air getting thin inside their heads. Brushing his open mouth against Jacob's cheek he can feel the skin getting hot, like he's running a fever and Paul knows he can only choke him for a few more seconds. That entire body is getting so deliciously tight around him, it's almost too tempting. Just a few seconds more, just a little. He rolls his hips up against Jacob and forces himself to count down from three. Slowly. The moment he lets go, Jacob's entire body vaults under the urgency of that first breath, all that precious air rushing in.

Jacob's eyes, when he looks up at him, are all big and unfocused, his gaze slipping over Paul's face, something akin to wonder flitting over his face and Paul shivers when Jacob's hand slides down his arms, fingernails trailing just lightly against his skin.  
“Dammit,”Jacob breathes shuddering underneath him, hot, wet breath washing against Paul's skin moments later when Jacob yanks him down face to face to pull him into a kiss. Jacob's tongue slips in, licking against his teeth and curling around his tongue, sucking it into his mouth and the noise that escapes Jacob raises the fine hairs on Paul's back, it's so needy and abandoned.  
 _Do it again..._

When Paul's palm closes around Jacob's throat this time, it's sudden and immediate. Pushing up hard against Jacob's chin, thumb and ring finger fitting perfectly against those precious blood vessels, he feels the groan rattle around and die beneath his hand. Jacob's eyes roll up until there are only the whites of them and he crowds up against Jacob, grinding his hips against him. It feels as if flames were licking down his back; that shadow roaming free now, pushing up through every single one of his cells, up and out, coating him in hot coals, leaving him gasping for air.  
Underneath him, Jacob seizes up, warm liquid streaking up against Paul's stomach moments later and Paul lets Jacob have just enough air to suffer through his pleasure before he follows along.

It's a long time later and Jacob is already curled up against his side, sleeping like a dead man, a strange kind of half smile swimming in his impassive face but it could just as well be a trick of the moonlight.  
Paul is staring up at the ceiling, waiting for the panic to set in, but it never shows. The shadow thing got out but now it's curled up in its cage again, the lock useless and broken but somehow Paul knows it won't be giving him any trouble. Now it knows it can roam about with impunity and he knows the world will still be turning afterward.


End file.
